


Crucified

by johnbrannox



Category: The New Pope
Genre: Crucifixion, Gen, Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, pain without plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23104522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnbrannox/pseuds/johnbrannox
Summary: Brannox gets crucified by unknown assailants.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Crucified

**Author's Note:**

> A self-indulgent Pain Without Plot fic.

“Please… don’t.”

They are holding his fingers down so that he cannot close his hand. He struggles in vain against his bonds as he watches the nail being positioned in the centre of his palm, before the hammer drives it through skin and _flesh_ and **_bone_** – and it hammers down _again_ , and **_again_** – affixing his left hand to the wooden crossbeam. His immediate world is an all-consuming explosion of agony and nothing but agony. Distantly, through the cacophonous roar of blood pounding in his head, he hears himself screaming. His right arm is still straining futilely against the ropes that lash him to the cross, even as he tries to keep his left arm still because _oh it hurts, how it hurts –_

(Is he being punished? For he is _vain_ , _conceited_ , _prideful_ , _weak_ , **_worthless_** , a **_coward_** , a **_fraud_** , a **_liar_** –)

(Is there redemption to be had at all for him, if not through suffering?)

(God does not like him. And with good reason.)

His right hand is being forced open now, none too gently, and the colour drains from his face and his heart pounds like a pneumatic drill and he cannot stop trembling sickly as he feels the sharp point of the nail caress his palm –

“No, no, _please_ , no… no, no, _no, no, no_ …”

– and the nail rips into his hand, his pleas once again unheeded. He jerks involuntarily at the impact and the nails tear into his wounds even more. His eyes are screwed shut, his jaw clenched so hard he thinks he might crack his teeth. The noises he is making are nigh inhuman – the pain is unbearable. Even just breathing has become laborious for him now. If there is any mercy at all, he will slip into unconsciousness soon.

(Dimly he wonders when these damaged hands will be able to play the harp again.)

Tears streak down his cheeks – and blood, as his tormentors finish off their macabre masterpiece with a crown of thorns forced upon his head.

As his vision darkens and the world begins to fade away into nothingness, he thinks...

If there is any mercy at all, he will not wake again.


End file.
